


To Live Is Not the Easy Choice

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Archer, Battle-Mage, Trickster, and Warrior [3]
Category: Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fix-It, GFY, Gen, Post-Movie, gratuitous abuse of mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every test that can be run without him awake and able to speak says he's Phil Coulson." That's Banner, calm and collected.</p><p>"Great. Then let's wake him up and ask a few questions." The quick, almost clipped words belong to Stark. "Before Fury decides to stop trying to hack JARVIS from a distance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Live Is Not the Easy Choice

"I'm supposed to be dead." It isn't a question, as he watches his own body in the hospital bed, wired to machines that monitor it and keep it alive. He doesn't want to be dead, he still wanted to live, but he wasn't certain if his body could manage to keep up with him.

"I don't actually know." The woman who's been keeping him company for the last several - hours? days? weeks? - doesn't move from where she's comfortably settled on the padded bench under the window that was wide enough to be used as a bed. She looks, at first glance, to be a nurse, perhaps. It's enough to keep most people, even the SHIELD agents who should know better, from coming into the room. "Father was very careful with that wound. Whether you die or not is really entirely up to you."

Silence falls again, and Phil continues to watch his own body, trapped there in a hospital bed. He doesn't like the idea of being there, but he likes the idea of being dead even less. "Are we actually in the hospital, or is this just an illusion to keep me from panicking while somewhere less familiar?"

"Yes, and no." She's maddeningly evasive, a talent he can appreciate, it being one he's cultivated himself. At least with anyone who doesn't need to know details. He did catch her reference to Loki earlier, and it makes identifying her as Hel fairly easy. What he's not certain of is why there'd been a split-second of fury when she mentioned her father.

Phil frowns, studying the swath of bandages that encases his chest. He's not entirely certain what she meant by 'careful' when she said Loki had been careful with the wound. He'd been fairly certain Loki meant to kill him - although perhaps not immediately, wanting an audience for what he did with Thor. Which would mean Phil is supposed to be dead, but is somehow not. Or at least, refuses to admit to being dead, which amounts to the same thing at the moment.

"If I chose to live, do I stay here until my body can actually maintain function without the machines?" Phil looks back over at Hel, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't know how these things go, never having come this close to death before. Not so close that he actually came face-to-face with a personification of death.

"I am not a personification of death. I am a ruler of the dead." Hel corrects his thoughts with a gentle smile that is perhaps more terrifying than even a glimpse of her rage. "And I already told you, whether you live or die is entirely your choice."

He frowns, studying her for a long moment, still not entirely certain what is happening. There's a gleam of mischief and feral glee in her eyes a moment, and she stands to come over to him. As if he's made a decision, even if he hasn't voiced it aloud.

"The All-Father will not be happy with your choice. Do continue to irritate him, mortal. It pleases me."

* * *

He wakes disoriented and gasping for breath, uncertain where he is, or even who he is. All he is certain of is that he is cold and wet and there is grass beneath his cheek and dirt under his nails. It takes long minutes for him to remember how to move, and lift his head.

Ah. His name.

He was dead.

Hel lied to him, but didn't, at the same time. He's not sure how to take that, or how he's come to be sprawled on top of his own grave, thankfully dressed in a suit, even if that suit stinks of decay and feels wrong against his skin. Phil wonders how long it will take for SHIELD to show up and bundle him out of sight.

It takes him several more minutes to manage to drag himself so he's leaning against his headstone, panting and exhausted. Apparently being dead is bad for muscle tone and coordination. At least SHIELD won't have a hard time getting him to cooperate, at least physically. He's not certain he's willing to tell them how he returned, even if he were certain himself.

Phil doesn't expect the first person to show up to be Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit. Or for him to demand what the hell he thinks he's doing, pretending to be Phil. It makes him laugh, though the sound is weak and rough. Death isn't good for vocal cords, either. He'll have to remember that for next time.

Natasha and Rogers arrive next, both looking like they're expecting someone else. Possibly Loki, depending on how well they've gotten a grip on tracking the magic of that particular Norse deity. He wants to ask where Banner is, to ask where Clint is - if Clint managed to get free of Loki - but his voice doesn't seem to want to cooperate with him.

Although at least that sort of struggle makes them look at him with a little less caution and a little more concern. He isn't sure if he wants to scold them for it, or thank them for it. He was, after all, dead. They'd buried him, probably had a memorial service with few people and an interment with fewer. He'd be wary of someone who appeared to be him showing up after that, even if that person was sitting on his grave looking freshly dug-up.

He doesn't have much chance to decide if he really wants to do anything, though, before Rogers scoops him up, carefully, arguing with Stark about where to take him. Natasha speaks once, a sharp few words that weighing in on Stark's insistence they take him back to Stark's tower. Phil's not sure why she wants that, but she looks over at him, and there's a moment of vulnerability in her eyes that she allows him to see behind the mask.

She hopes, at least, that he really is who he appears to be, and she isn't going to let SHIELD poke and prod him unless she becomes convinced he isn't.

"Clint will be back as soon as he gets a flight out from Missoula." Her words are a balm to his mind that he hadn't been quite aware he needed, and Phil relaxes a bit against Rogers. If Clint's coming back from a vacation - more likely, a mandatory stand-down - than he got out from under Loki's hold. That's all Phil needs.

The next while is a blur of movement and loud voices and lights. He may have come back from the dead, but he suspects he's closer to being dead again than he'd like to know. Perhaps whatever Hel did could only do so much, and needs the support of other work to finish the job. He's not sure, not when his thoughts seem more disjointed than not.

A pinch at the inside of his elbow is the last thing he remembers before darkness clouds his mind.

* * *

This time, he's not watching himself, at least, though he's not certain if he's dreaming or this is something else. Hel is sitting beside the bed he's in, in a room that looks more like a very nice hotel room with some medical equipment rather than a hospital room. Which means he's probably on one of Stark's properties rather than in SHIELD's custody.

"Does anyone other than me see you?" The fact that he can ask that question probably answers his earlier question of dreaming or awake - awake, he's probably still as wordless as he was earlier. "Never mind."

Hel smiles, an amused expression that fades readily back into something more curious and measuring. "It is not an easy path, what you have chosen. Few would do so - few have done so. The All-Father doesn't like it when any do."

"Why?" All-Father has to be Odin, and he remembers she commanded - asked? suggested? - he irritate the god by his choices. Though why Odin should be concerned with one mortal among many, Phil isn't entirely certain.

"What means mortality when a mortal does not die?" Hel asks, instead of giving him a straight answer. Not that Phil is surprised by that, as she hasn't given him a straight answer to any question he's asked her. He suspects she's very much like Loki in that regard.

It takes him a moment to sit up, but not nearly as long as it had taken for him to drag himself upright in the graveyard. Very much not awake, then, and therefor not bound by the limitations of his physical condition.

"Do you give everyone this choice?"

"Does everyone wish so greatly to live, or do they merely fear to die?" Eyes that are a murky color Phil can't quite pinpoint watch him, pale lips curve in a smile that conveys only mischievous amusement. She isn't going to answer that question, either, though her questions in return do give him something to think about, at least. Which, if he can't move, is better than doing nothing.

"Why bother coming to me now? I've already made the choice to live." He wants to live, and he's not going to let her take that choice away from him.

Hel shrugs, her smile simply widening. Watching him, as if he's something fascinating that she hasn't figured out - any more than he's been able to figure out her.

Silence dominates the room for an indefinite period of time before it begins to fade around the edges. Pain and a lassitude he doesn't quite recognize tugging at him until he falls back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Listening to the noises around him as a jumble of voices impinges on his awareness. Wakefulness returning, and the weakness of a body that doesn't know what to do with its returned life.

"Phil was dead, we buried him!" That's Rogers, insistent and confused at the same time. Not any more sure of what to make of this than Phil himself. "Are you sure this isn't a trick of Loki's?"

Phil is sure this isn't a trick, though Loki is tangentially involved in some ways. The murderer, and the father of the goddess who had brought Phil back. At least, he thinks Hel brought him back, though something in her words makes him wonder if it's her doing, or something else.

"Every test that can be run without him awake and able to speak says he's Phil Coulson." That's Banner, calm and collected. He must have remained at Stark Tower while the other three went out. Or he had been elsewhere, and flown in. Phil can't be certain without access to SHIELD records. He thinks.

"Great. Then let's wake him up and ask a few questions." The quick, almost clipped words belong to Stark, and Phil can picture him standing there in a t-shirt and jeans, with a glass of something in hand. "Before Fury decides to stop trying to hack JARVIS from a distance."

That is something Phil can imagine Fury doing. He doesn't know how long his former boss has been holding back his need to know what was found, or how much longer he'll refrain from just bullying into the Tower with brute force if necessary.

"I don't know how long it will be before he's capable of speech." Banner sounds tired, but patient. "I'm not even sure what to make of some of the test results. He _is_ Phil Coulson, but there are metabolites and markers in his blood that I don't know how to interpret. They may be the result of having been dead, but there's no sign of any embalming solution in his blood or tissue samples, or metabolites from that. And they're not like some of the markers in the blood we were able to collect from what Loki left behind, either."

"What about Thor?" Rogers, sounding almost as tired as Banner for a moment. "Or me?"

"Nothing like the markers the serum left in your blood, no." There's that much, at least, though Phil isn't expecting them to find anything like Rogers or Banner in his blood. "And I don't have any base references for Thor. He wasn't willing to give any blood to check, and I doubt even after this he'll be willing to do so."

There's a sigh Phil can't actually identify, and the quiet sounds of fabric shifting - probably the three men shifting their weight around. Tired, and out of answers well before they're out of questions, and he doesn't have anything to add, even if he were sure he could speak.

"Do you think he will be capable of speaking again?" Natasha is speaking, and Phil realizes she's far closer to him than any of the other three, probably right next to the bed. He wonders how long she's been watching him, and if she's figured out he's awake now.

"There are no obvious physical issues which would prevent him from doing so, though I won't rule out brain damage at the moment. Or any psychological trauma that might prevent him from speaking right away." Banner lets out a sigh. "I hope he's able to speak once he's awake again, and we can get some water into him."

A hand touches his forehead lightly, before moving to his shoulder, the same light touch, then down to pick up his hand. Natasha reassuring herself that he's real, he's here, and giving him the same reassurance about her. He's not sure what to make of it. She's never been quite so demonstrative, especially not in front of others, in the past. Not with him, anyway.

"He's awake right now. I don't know why he's pretending otherwise." She can, though, still read him well enough. As well as he hopes he reads her.

He tries to squeeze her hand, though it's weak, and struggles to open his eyes to look at her. It takes longer than he likes to think, and there's a frown of concern on her face. An expression that's more open than he expects, at least for a moment before she pulls the masks back on, and hides behind them.

A moment later, and Banner's face appears above him, holding a pen-light that he uses to check Phil's pupils. Banner doesn't hide his concern nearly as well, though once he's satisfied at whatever he's checking, he helps to sit Phil up, raising the bed, and piling pillows behind Phil to keep him upright. He's not sure he'd be able to do so otherwise.

Stark and Rogers are standing at the end of the bed, watching him. Rogers with a mix of wariness, pain, and cautious hope, Stark with a sardonic mask that is probably hiding much the same set of emotions. Phil isn't as good at reading Stark as he'd like, but that's never been his job, not for very long.

He frowns slightly, wondering where Clint is, and turns his head to look at Natasha, swallowing to try and wet his throat. A small smile quirks her lips and she looks over his head at Banner, who hands her a cup of water a moment later. The liquid is cool going down his throat, relief and a hope that he'll be able to speak, as Banner had mentioned a few moments ago.

"Barton?" It's rough, almost a croak, and he grimaces at the sound. He'd barely understood his own question, and he'd known exactly what he was asking.

"On a plane." Natasha holds the cup to his lips again, encouraging him to drink more of the water. Even if they gave him fluids through the IV he can see in his arm, he knows it's necessary to get some in the normal way. Just a bit, for now, to start getting his stomach used to having something in it again.

He closes his eyes a moment, both acknowledgement of Natasha's answer, and a bit of creeping exhaustion that's come on faster than he's expected. How long is it going to take him to recover from being dead? If there's even a way to answer that question, without any recorded incidents to compare this to.

After a long moment, he opens his eyes again, looking at the four around his bed, wondering that none of them had asked any questions yet. He raises an eyebrow, silent inquiry as to why they all remain silent.

Stark snorts, a wry smile crossing his face a moment. "You overheard us earlier." The statement is far more accurate than Stark has any cause to guess, and Phil smiles a moment, though the expression feels less sardonic and more open than he intends for it to be. "Why ask about Barton first?"

Phil is quiet a moment, before he answers, speaking slower than he usually would, to keep his words clear as the need to sleep again creeps up on him. "Barton was compromised by the hostile Loki of Asgard." And he'd died before he'd had a chance to find out if Clint was recovered - or killed, but Natasha wouldn't tell him Clint is on his way if he were dead.

"Yeah. Natasha knocked some sense back into him." Stark shrugs, still watching Phil with a smile that hides more than it shows. "Do you know how you got a free resurrection?"

"No." Phil pauses, a small frown on his face. "I'm not sure it's free, either." He still doesn't know why Hel had appeared in his - dreams? hallucinations? - to talk to him, especially since she hadn't given him a straight answer to any question.

"Do you know who?" Rogers looks worried, still, but more convinced than Stark. It's almost reassuring that Captain America thinks he is who he is.

"I'm not certain if the person I encountered while dead is the person who returned me to life. I was told the choice to live was mine." He knows he doesn't have anything that should allow him to return to life, but perhaps there's something in those markers that Banner found in him that might provide some answer. If they find someone who can interpret the results, and that they can trust not to lie to them.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, giving him a look that says clearly she's not going to allow him to side-step the question of who he'd encounted for long, but she at least doesn't ask in front of the others. There are things he'd rather not discuss with Stark, at the very least.

He closes his eyes again, and isn't certain when he drifts to sleep.

* * *

When he wakes up again, he's not sure how long he's been unconscious, but not long enough for Clint to have arrived, since the only person in the room is Natasha. She's watching him, one hand resting on top of the one of his closer to her. Waiting for him to come around again, he thinks, because as soon as he opens his eyes, she reaches for a cup and pitcher, pouring him water.

He still isn't able to hold it, but she brings it to his lips, and steadies the cup as he makes himself take small sips, rather than gulping at it. Rather like dealing with the aftermath of starvation, he needs to give his stomach time to adjust to being alive and working again. Which means small sips of liquid, bland and easy foods in small amounts.

"Thank you." He lets his head lean back against the pillows again, resting for a long moment. "I don't know if they were supposed to be dreams or hallucinations. Her name is Hel." He doesn't want to wait for Natasha to ask the question he knows she's been holding onto since the last time he was awake.

"Loki's daughter?" Natasha raises an eyebrow, though she doesn't raise her voice, or move from the seat she's in.

Phil gave her a small smile. "She didn't seem to be happy about that fact." The flash of remembered rage in Hel's eyes goes through his mind. "I don't think she likes her father."

Natasha smiles at that, curling her fingers around his hand. "Do you remember anything else about any encounters with her?"

He nods, and after another sip of water, begins to recount what he remembers of the first encounter with Hel. He's not sure if he manages to tell Natasha all of it before sleep creeps up on him again. That this time it dumps him straight into another meeting with Hel, though, does make him wonder.

"You didn't give up and simply die." Hel smiles at him, and it takes Phil a moment to realize she's answering the last question she asked him. There's amusement in her expression, and a flash of bitterness that Phil can't quite figure out where it might come from.

"It's not in my nature to give up." It never has been, though there have been times when it might have been the more pragmatic option to leave something be altogether. He usually only finds a different way to deal with the problem.

"You will need that." The expression on Hel's face makes Phil wonder what there is behind that - wonder what's behind the reason she'd even given him the choice to live, and why she keeps coming to bother him in this in-between place.

He doesn't have a chance to ask why before she vanishes, and darkness swallows the dream, or whatever it is, with sleep.

* * *

"I hear you're supposed to be back from the dead, and you're not even awake when I get here." The first words he hears when he opens his eyes this time are not from Natasha or any of the other three that he's seen since he woke up. Although the tone Clint delivers them in isn't as much snark as it is uncertain - not what Phil's expecting.

He looks over where Clint is sitting, probably has been sitting since he arrived from wherever he's been, and sees the same mix of emotions in the archer's eyes as he'd seen in Natasha's before. Not quite certain, but wanting to believe Phil is who he appears to be, that he is as alive and real and solid as he looks.

"How short did you cut your mandatory down-time?" It's not even really a guess, but more knowledge of how SHIELD works, and knowing Clint had been compromised before Phil died, and not yet retrieved.

Clint shrugs, a familiar, sardonic smile crossing his face briefly. "Three weeks." He pauses, studying Phil a long moment. "I brought Anna in with me. Nat's taken her to get coffee or tea." Or an interrogation, goes unspoken. Phil frowns, wondering why Clint had brought his civilian girlfriend into the Tower - it's not something he'd ever expected to happen.

"She had an interesting story." Clint runs a hand through his hair, still watching Phil with much the same intensity he does his targets. "Nat said you'd have an interesting story too."

About Hel, and the encounters - three now that he can remember - he's had with her. Phil doesn't answer immediately, nodding only after a moment. "It can wait." Until Clint had a chance to process this, and maybe told Phil what's interesting about Anna. There's something going on, and Phil has a suspicion that Anna's story, and his encounters with Hel, are somehow connected.


End file.
